


Temples

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Sex Work, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard does what he must to provide for his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temples

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for midorikopanda’s “Bard and Smaug” prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s a long walk down the stairs of Erebor, but it was a longer ride here. He doesn’t relish these journeys, with Sigrid left to tend to Bain and Tilda and Bard’s own shame a constant companion in his chest. But he brought three children into this hard world, and he does what he has to to support them, no matter what the cost. 

He can’t even remember how it started. He was looking for the gold, of course—even a few spare trinkets from Erebor’s vast halls would buy him an easier life, at least for a time. But the hidden passage he found lead him down a road he never expected, and he’s still not sure how he first let his ideals fall so far. He knows it’s _wrong_. Each step he takes weighs him heavier down. The gold shines bright at the bottom of the chamber, lit up with the fire of a _dragon_ , and the dazzling radiance that glimmers off his scales. 

When Bard hits the ground, he has to wade through the mountain of jewels. More than once, he’s thought of stuffing his pockets right here and turning to _run_ , but he’d be burned to ash in a heartbeat. Instead, he makes his way through the golden sea to the towering crimson beast above, who purrs from his throne amidst his hoard, “How much this time, bowman?”

A shiver runs down Bard’s spine. For all Smaug’s vile nature, his voice is _beautiful_ , deep and rich beyond compare. There’s a sensuality to it that no monster should hold, but Smaug sounds as good as he looks: a gorgeous piece of art. He’s the tormenter who sent them from their homes, and Bard hates him for that, but it doesn’t take away from his allure. He smirks his long, curled muzzle, and Bard grunts, “As much as you will give me.”

Smaug flicks a lazy paw. It sends a landslide of coins toppling down the hill, but they slow before they reach Bard’s feet. “And how will you earn it?” Smaug asks as if he doesn’t know. 

There’s a moment where Bard hesitates. He was a whore before this. He’s not above renting his body out to feed his children, but that was always different. There’s no shame in pleasuring the people of his town. There’s shame in pleasuring the very monster who put them on that frigid lake, and there have been times when he hasn’t been able to do it, whatever the price, and he’s turned to leave. He’s always surprised when Smaug lets him go. 

He found his boat leaking last week. He suspects that Alfrid had something to do with it, probably to try and force him on his knees, though Bard’s never taken Alfrid for a client. He wouldn’t now. He _needs_ a new boat. He eyes the sleek flank of Smaug’s jewel-encrusted cloak, and he tries to think of that intoxicating _power_ and the dripping sex of Smaug’s voice, the past all pushed from his mind. 

He starts to peel of his coat. It’s too hot here anyway, so near to living flame. He lets the thick fabric fall from his shoulders, and he pulls off his gloves, taking his tunic over his head. Now that he’s started, if he isn’t quick enough, Smaug will tear the clothes from his body. He never fancies having to ride back in rags. He pushes down his trousers and stands before Smaug bare, breathing hard in anticipation. Almost as an afterthought, he bends to retrieve a clip from his coat pocket, then straightens back out and pins his hair back from his face. He knows Smaug likes to look at him. 

Smaug eyes him with evident amusement and a healthy dose of _lust_ , though what a dragon could do with a man, Bard has no idea. He no longer fears being eaten, though he still doesn’t trust Smaug’s intent. Smaug stares at him for several creeping minutes, then turns his snout to Bard, and his nostrils flare. Bard closes his eyes just in time, tensing his muscles and standing firm. A cloud of broiling steam wafts over him, gone as soon as it came. A second longer would’ve scalded his skin. 

He’s left beaded with it, dripping in sweat, his flesh turned a darker brown-red and his chest beating all the harder with his breath. He opens his eyes but can’t close his mouth. Smaug runs a twisting tongue along his lips and gnarled teeth, then slinks that little bit closer, his muzzle nearly touching Bard’s chest. 

He opens his mouth, and his tongue laves over Bard, huge and broad and spongy, warm and wet. It leaves him slick with Smaug’s saliva, but he doesn’t move away. The tongue covers his entire body, stops to twist around his sides, his arms, then snaking between his legs, and he has to grit his teeth to stifle a moan. His cock twitches, and he’s afraid to look down, even though he can still feel his body’s betrayal. Displaying himself for Smaug always makes him hard, and getting licked always makes him harder. 

Worse still are the thoughts that follow. He’s often entertained the traitorous notion of trying to strike some sort of sordid relationship with this horrid creature. Perhaps he could use it to bring his children closer, bring his people back to Dale, and he could enjoy _these meetings_ regularly. It could work, but it’ll never happen. He couldn’t bare the shame of anyone, especially his children, knowing that he whores himself to the very thing that ruined all their lives. 

When the tongue is done, the tail follows. The pointed tip slithers around Bard’s ankle, crawls up his leg, scrapes lightly along his sensitive thigh and teases just under his balls, stroking down his shaft and worming against his cock. Then it climbs higher, wrapping around his waist, rubbing across his chest. It toys with his nipples and finally snakes its way to his mouth. He parts his lips to let it inside. He can only suckle on a very small part, but Smaug doesn’t seem to mind. He enjoys fucking Bard’s mouth for a while, while Bard struggles to keep his hands at his sides instead of jerking himself off or humping the tail pressed against his thigh. 

Eventually, the tail recedes. Jewelry follows. Smaug’s claws pluck up the most delicate of necklaces and drape them over him, pushing bracelets along his arms and clasping belts along his hips, until he’s glittering with gemstones worth more than his town. By the time the Master collects his dues, there should be enough for a new boat and several months of food. 

As Smaug settles back, Bard asks, trying to sound hollow, “May I go?” In truth, he wants to run behind the nearest pillar and stroke his cock until the need is gone. He always worries Smaug will see it in his eyes.

Smaug drawls, “You may. ...Or you may lay beside me and touch yourself throughout the night, according to my every wish, and then you will go home with as many coins as you can carry.”

The offer takes Bard aback. Staying the night has never been on the table before. He’s dreamt of it many times, but he’s never dared to ask. He feared Smaug would agree, and Bard would slowly become a part of Smaug’s collection. He licks his lips and considers it.

And finally, he gives in, walking forward to sell away his soul.


End file.
